


Unresolved Baseball Tension

by CharWright5



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Baseball, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Getting Together, M/M, Pidge's gender is shortstop, Pre-Slash, Swearing, extremely vague references to masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-10
Updated: 2016-07-10
Packaged: 2018-07-22 19:20:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7451023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CharWright5/pseuds/CharWright5
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was supposed to be Lance's season to shine, his time to be the on-field hero for his team. And it would've happened, if only <i>Keith</i> hadn't shown up...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unresolved Baseball Tension

**Author's Note:**

  * For [quartetship](https://archiveofourown.org/users/quartetship/gifts).



> So the very lovely Q is having health issues and tweeted about baseball paladins and put this idea in my head. I figured rather than just letting it rot away in there, I'd try and cheer her up with this ridiculousness since her fics make so many people (including myself) so happy. Hope you like it, Ms Q :)

Shit was gonna be different this year, better, more epic. And Lance fucking _knew_ it. It was just this gut feeling he had, backed up by the knowledge that... well, that he was pretty much the shit.

Last season he was nothing more that a freshman punk, hazed and ragged on by his teammates on the Paladin U baseball team. But this year? This year he was a sophomore, had proven that he was a good player, and was about to kick all kinds of ass. He was gonna get more playing time now that the starting centerfielder was gone, graduated a couple months back, so it was his time to shine.

Only...

That didn't happen.

Shit started going south before the season—hell, the _school year_ even started. The last Sunday before classes began for fall semester was a voluntary batting practice—which every player knew was actually mandatory, despite no coaches actually running it—and Lance was ready to go. Stretching in front of the home dugout with his buddy Hunk, the brick wall of a backstop, and Pidge, the tiny shortstop that would give the Astros' second baseman a run for his money in the Smallest Player Award—if such a thing even existed—if they ever made the majors, Lance scanned the other players, sizing them all up. Pretty decent, a lot of them returning from the previous season, a couple rookie freshman who had no idea what they were in for when practice was over and...

Oh no.

Oh _heeeell_ no.

Hunk and Pidge both snapped their heads to him, Pidge's eyes wide behind their round wire-rimmed glasses, Hunk frowning beneath his sweatband. Because apparently, Lance had said that shit out loud. Which, oops, but whatever. He regretted nothing, saved him from having to repeat the sentiment, saved him from having to come up with a more creative curse to accurately portray his current line of thinking.

Which he may have to do anyway, judging by the prick he was staring at.

His two friends exchanged a confused look, Hunk shrugging and Pidge pushing their glasses up their nose, before both turned their attention back to the outfielder.

“Uh, Lance?” the larger of the two voiced the puzzlement for both of them, scratching at a thick arm. “You okay, buddy?”

Lance continued to glare across the diamond, over at left field where two familiar faces were making their way over to join the rest of the team, seemingly lost in conversation. Shiro was a welcomed addition, duffel hanging off his left arm, right one covered in a compression sleeve, the pitcher back in baseball shape after Tommy John surgery a year and a half ago that had kept him out during his junior season. The guy had been the ace of the staff, a power pitcher with a fastball that hit high-nineties—and, if rumors were to be believed, sometimes even the triple digits—and a curveball that was just unfair, and his return meant nothing but good news for the Lions baseball team.

The guy he was walking with however...

“Keith,” Lance hissed through his gritted teeth, glaring at the shorter male with his stupid black hair and even stupider face.

Another look was exchanged between Hunk and Pidge before both followed Lance's line of sight. Pidge squinted, Hunk put his hand over his brow to shield his eyes from the sun, both tilting their heads to the side.

“Are you sure?” Hunk questioned, dropping his hand to put both on his hips. “I can't tell from here.”

“Yeah, me neither,” Pidge backed him up, but Lance paid the comments no mind, continuing his scowling.

“I'd recognize that stupid mullet anywhere,” he grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest and obscuring the _Paladin Baseball_ print across the front of his tee. “Someone needs to tell him the eighties are over and that haircut isn't acceptable outside of a trailer park.”

Hunk chuckled then immediately sobered up, giving Lance an admonishing look. Pidge frowned at both of them, kicking at the dirt of the warning track the three of them mingled around on, the late summer heat making it dry and cause a cloud of dust to rise around all their legs.

“C'mon, man. We should be glad he's here. He's a great player,” Hunk insisted, swatting at Lance's arm.

The outfielder snorted humorlessly, rolling his eyes. Okay, so he'd seen first hand that Keith was pretty damn good, but that wasn't the point. The point was that Keith was also an outfielder—center, just like Lance—and was therefore competition. Not to mention that the interactions the two of them had had back in high school were...less than friendly. Keith was doom and gloom and always so fucking serious and honestly wouldn't know how to lighten up if he'd gotten brained in the head with a lamppost. And, according to the douche, Lance was “annoying” and “didn't know when to shut up” and “couldn't take anything seriously”. Whatever. Just meant Lance was actually _fun_ and Keith was apparently allergic to it.

The best thing that had ever happened to Lance was getting into Paladin U and hearing that Keith had gone off to...well, he didn't actually know where, just that it wasn't the same college as Lance and it was _awesome_. He didn't have to deal with the douche anymore, was able to shine like the star he was and show the entire world what he could do.

And now all of that was coming to a screeching halt because Keith had decided to bring a curse upon Lance and this team by joining.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Damn him. Damn him to Hell.

“You're overreacting,” Pidge stated, making Lance roll not just his eyes, but his whole entire head, that's how dumb their statement was. “Seriously. Things will be fine.”

He turned his dubious look on his shorter friend, unable to believe that such a stupid statement had come out the mouth of someone who was essentially a member of MENSA. “No, Pidge,” he said flatly, switching back to glare at Keith's approach more. “It will definitely _not_ be fine.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

It was one of very few times that Lance was actually pissed about being right. Because, as he'd stated on that first practice, things were very much not fucking fine.

He was moved over to left field, their head coach Coran thinking that Keith would be best served in center, relegating Lance to second-best. He also didn't hit third in the line-up like he figured he would, instead put in the fifth spot, behind Keith and Hunk. Shit, hitting second would've been preferable, would get him better pitches to hit since the other team would be more focused on trying to get Keith out. But nooooo. Fifth.

Fuck his life.

Keith got all the good pitches to hit. Keith got all the long flyballs in the outfield. Keith got the home runs and the RBIs and the game-saving outs and at one point, even had a sprawling, flying catch he'd made appear on _SportsCenter_ 's Top Ten Plays of the Day. He got all the glory, and Lance got fucking shafted.

And, as if that wasn't enough, the guy even lived in the baseball house with Lance, Pidge, Hunk, and Shiro, meaning Lance couldn't escape his annoying ass there either. They even had a few classes together, both seeking criminal justice degrees, so Lance was stuck as a background player in the twenty-four-seven Keith Show.

The two of them still bickered, more so than they had in high school, constantly under one another's feet and in their faces. Arguments broke out over who should've backed off a routine can-of-corn out when the ball flew in the open space between where the two of them had set up, whose turn it was for the shower, who was responsible for taking out the trash, who snagged the leftover pizza from the fridge—which was usually Hunk, but Lance liked accusing Keith.

It got to the point where arguing with the asshole was a daily occurrence, where the rest of their housemates gave up trying to step in the middle and break it up. Pidge walked around with headphones around their neck so they could pull them up at a second's notice to block out the noise. Hunk would head to the kitchen for a snack, most likely hiding his thoughts in a sandwich or ice cream or the pizza Lance had accused Keith of coveting. Shiro would sigh and roll his eyes before gathering his shit and leaving the room.

Pidge once asked Lance why he kept doing it, why he was constantly antagonizing Keith and starting trouble, and all Lance said was “because it's _Keith_ ”, gesturing with open arms in a _duh!_ manner. He figured it was obvious, that anyone without eyes should've been able to see that, yet the tiny genius apparently didn't get it. Pidge and Hunk exchanged a look that could've meant a million things, but Lance refused to dissect it and try to figure it out, knowing full well that it meant he'd have to dissect his own thoughts and feelings along with it.

Because...and he was loathe to admit it...the most annoying thing about Keith was how damn _perfect_ the guy was. And not just on the baseball field, with the way he led the team in average, home runs, stolen bases, and RBIs—annoying fucker—but in every aspect of his life. He had perfect grades and hardly ever was seen studying anything, while Lance was stuck in a never-ending cycle of Red Bull infused all-nighters where he crammed like hell and stressed himself into tears. Keith's room was perfectly neat and tidy, everything where it was supposed to be, and was never forced to spend laundry day in holey sweats and a borrowed tee because everything else smelled like an actual dumpster full of sweaty armpits. And Keith himself...

Well...

Okay, Lance knew it was kind of an unspoken rule in locker rooms that you give other dudes their privacy and don't peek but...He got curious, determined to find _something_ where Keith failed, a _shortcoming_ , to put it lightly, that Lance could use to lord over the guy—if only in his head, because no way would he admit that he peeked at the guy's junk during communal showers after a game.

But fuck him if Keith wasn't gifted in that area, too.

And ripped.

Like underwear model ripped, every abdominal muscle perfectly sculpted, obliques that looked like finger-holds, that V between his torso and thighs. Their uniforms were apparently hiding a lot, and Keith worked out more than his lean physique led on, and...yeah, it pissed Lance off. Because it wasn't fair that the asshole was blessed with athletic talent and smarts and cleanliness, no, he was blessed with good looks, too.

Good looks that had Lance's skin tingling and his stomach swooping and his heart pounding during arguments, reactions that he told himself was adrenaline from the bickering and not a sign of anything else.

Reactions that had him staying too long in the shower as he gripped his cock hard and imagined it was the long, rough fingers of a dark-haired centerfielder, knowing it would lead to another fight.

Reactions that had his eyes lingering too long on the other player on the field, in the locker room, at home.

Reactions that had him flushing from head to toe when after yet another yell-fest and insult trade with Keith, Shiro had bellowed at the top of his lungs to just “fuck and get it out of your systems! Christ!” before storming out the living room, unaware of the silent destruction he'd left behind.

Reactions that had him kissing back when Keith pinned him against the wall, lips coming together in a crash much the way their bodies had collided the week before, Lance refusing to back down when Keith had called for the ball.

And maybe it wasn't exactly the way he'd imagined it would be, but Lance had ended up being right about that year being epic. Paladin U made the College World Series, Lance raised his career average and hit a few dingers of his own, and at the end of the day, he had a hot boyfriend there to congratulate him with blow jobs—and vice versa.

He still wasn't gonna back off when Keith called for the ball. The guy could kiss his ass about that one.


End file.
